To Mould A Man From Clay
Chapter Four
"Okay, fine," Jirax says as he enters the kitchen area on the D-5 Mantis and leans against the door's frame, awaiting permission to entire. "Let's talk straight."
"Are you going to behave?"
"I ain't a damn-" He stops himself when he sees her stern expression. He grumbles, with a huff, "Yeah. I'll behave."
"Good, do you want some of the food I made?"
"What," Jirax immediately perks up, "there's food?"
"That Nemodian had a plentiful pantry."
"Good to know."
She smiles brightly and they both realize it's the first time she's smiled towards him. All in the time of one blink does it disappear, "It's nothing extremely special, but it's something Jory liked. Slab of seasoned Bantha meat."
"Smells mighty fine." He picks up a big chunk of meat and puts it one of the mismatched plate in the cupboard. He then takes a seat, leans backwards, props his boot-clad feet onto the table, and grins toothily. "I have a big appetite."
"I figured you would."
They eat in silence that is neither tense nor comfortable. Mako is pleased to see that he isn't a total barbarian. Somewhere inside the cyborg he knows table manners and not to chew with his mouth open. If anything, she feels like she's sitting down for supper with a giant rancor who happens to know how to eat with a fork. She half expected him to pluck the meat into his hands and tear it a part like jerky. If she entertains the idea enough, she can almost imagine him being civilized dinner company-put him in dress robes, cover up his mechanical eye with an eyepatch, add a little makeup over his scars, and he could even pass off as an actual gentleman.
When he finishes, Jirax wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist and pushes his plate away. He folds his hands on his chest and breathes in deeply, enjoying the sensation of an actual meal in his belly. He watches Mako finish her dinner, head down, eyes closed as she chews, trying not to make unnecessary sound. He hadn't noticed her watching him, and in turn, she doesn't catch him staring at her.
Jirax has never had a moment to look at her without there being an argument, blasterfire in the distance, or extra company nearby. Her wavy hair is down and tucked behind her ears. The silver metal of her implant catches the dim light in the room. If he lets his mind wander far enough, he decides that she's pretty, especially without the layer or sweat, blood, and grime. In fact, she reminds him of...
Mako finishes, takes her plate and lets it clank in the sink. She sits down again and tilts her head to meet his glance.
"Tell me how you died."
Jirax snaps out of his little trance. "Goes back further than just dyin'."
"Tell me the whole story then."
He rubs his forearm, just above the bent of his arm. "I shot myself up with a few tranquilizer stim."
Mako raises a brow. "I don't understand, shouldn't you be out like a light-"
"If this conversation goes the way I'm bettin' it does, then it's for the best. My heart can't physically take it. And that ain't a damn cutesy, mopey cliche, alright? I really can't. If it gets too bad I might lose it. Wouldn't be safe for you." He closes his eye and grinds his teeth. "Hurts my head real bad."
Mako peers at him with a confused and perplexed expression. Finally she nods and decides that the potential risk is worth it.
"Don't remember much about life before. Lost plenty of memories. All I know is that I had a wife and a son. Needed money, so I took a job from a Sith who wanted this other Darth dead." Disgust taints his features. "Darth Vexyl. A fuckin' harpy. Outsmarted me and killed me."
"Yes, you were technically dead, or I guess MIA as reported by your wife. There's documentation."
"When I woke up as this, didn't know time'd passed. Bout a year or so in that demented Dark Temple. First thing that bloodsucker wanted was for me to kill my family.
"I saw 'em in market. Watched 'em for an afternoon. Realized who they were and what the Sith wanted me to do. Couldn't do it."
"So you reunited yourself with your wife and son, right?"
"Hadn't seen my reflection before. Didn't know how bad it was. Wife was a blind woman anyways. They split off, her goin' home and Viktur to the academy. Went into our apartment, 'cause she hadn't changed the locks, and she recognized my voice, couldn't believe it really. When she touched me I knew somethin' was wrong. Head started throbbin', chest started achin', couldn't breathe, couldn't think. She tried to help, but it didn't matter. Son came back, saw a monster with his mother, and he said I wasn't his father. Cast me out like a rotten meal. Threatened to get the local guard. Ran out. Last time I went there, plannin' to see if I could make amends somehow, they were gone."
"That's terrible."
"That's life."
"That's quite callous of someone who had just been turned out of his own home and lost his family."
"Well what the fuck do you want me to say? I couldn't let it cripple me. Or guess it wouldn't let me without the pain." Jirax rubs his temple and sighs. "It ain't you at all, s'me. Conditioned like a slave with a shock collar. Got metallic bits in my head too, only I can't get Huttball statistics."
Mako narrows her brows. "It's more than just that." She hesitates as she chews on the next logical question. "Did the Sith kill them since you wouldn't?"
"That she did. Hunt them down, killed 'em, then found me in the jungle. She handed me their dead hearts. Couldn't do much. Felt too much pain. She pulled the strings in the end and I wouldn't let myself die like that in the end. Somethin' made me follow her back to her dirty chambers. Maybe I didn't want to hurt no more." Spite rises in Jirax and his features darken. A grin forms on his face. "Soon 'nough, couldn't take it, doin' her dirty work. Made me sick bein' her dirty little dog, playin' into her mind games and bein' trapped in that twisted world. So one night when she rested in her lavish quarters in Kaas City, I incapacitated her with poison I'd made, and I took that harpy Sith's heart, by carvin' it out of her chest with my knife. I crushed it in my fingers, stomped on her chest cavity till it was a bloody mess."
Mako gapes in horror. "That's absolutely disgusting! And I've heard plenty of nightmarish things."
"A heart for a heart. She had it comin'."
Mako rubs her forehead and her fingers tremble. Suddenly she realizes the rancor, though proper when he wants to be, still is a rancor, all sharp claws and teeth, ugly, hollow eyes, and subdued violence. She swallows hard and raises her eyes.
"Can I ask you one last thing?"
"Ain't stoppin' you."
"Why are you participating in the Great Hunt?"
Jirax pauses, thinks on it, contemplates telling her, but decides against it. He knows it's a foolish reason.
"You wouldn't understand." Jirax abruptly bolts up from the chair as the effects of the stims wear off and he leaves the kitchen. The tremors in his head and chest are unbearable, excrutiating-he knows he's gone too far this time-and as he stumbles through the confines of his ship, his vision blurs, he hears a soft laugh ringing in his ears, feels ghostly gentle hands touch his shoulders, sees his Safie's blue eyes, and then the cruel words of damnation by his son Viktor-
The ship makes him feel like a beast trapped in a cage three sizes too small. His chest tightens, and he thinks that this is it, he'll die and it'll be over, but the pain continues crescendoing, and primal, selfish instinct takes over-he won't die this way, damned to hell, he'll die on his own terms.
Jirax slams his fist into one of the ship's walls, denting its structure. The roar that comes from the back of his throat is foreign, almost too grotesque, and he can hear the Sith's cackling even from her frozen grave.
At the top of the ship's single staircase, Mako watches, half-horrified and half-intrigued, and the anguished, wretched howl shakes her. She wonders briefly what kind of sick, insane creator moulds a man in this fashion.